2P or not 2P
by iwillholdonhope
Summary: 2P!Hetalia FACE drabbles. No 1P characters, human names used.
1. Chapter 1

So, this will all be 2p Hetalia, focusing around FACE. Mostly drabbles off of pictures (which I don't have the links to, sorry!) snippets of conversation, or random requested items (which is why things will randomly be in certain stories)

* * *

Arthur was just finishing up with the final arrangements when he heard footsteps behind him and the tapping of wood against bricks. Giving the person a quick glance over his shoulder to see if he needed to defend himself, he looked back to his work. It was only Matthew, the blade on the hockey stick now clinking against the brick every second swing or so.

"May I help you?" he never stopped his work, but Arthur asked the question anyway.

Arthur brought his thumb up to his mouth as his left hand continued to mix around, taking a slow lick.

"Mmmm, needs more sugar. Love," He looked over his shoulder at Matthew, who was now holding the hockey stick over his shoulder, black sunglasses blocking Arthur's view of his eyes. "Could you be a dear and hold this for me."

A splatter of liquid as he pulled his left hand out, waving Matthew over with his other hand. A tilt of the head from Matthew, as he started forward.

Reaching out, Matthew waited for the item to be deposited into his hand. Once it was, he brought it up to his face for inspection. Arthur could still not see any facial expression, the glasses blocking what little emotion might be on the boys face.

"It's still beating Arthur." Glasses were lifted slightly from his face by his gloved hand. Mirth.

* * *

It wasn't as though he was weak, no, he was far from weak. In fact, he just took down about a dozen men with nothing but his trusty knife. But look where he was now. He had been shot right through his hand, forcing him to drop his blade, and was backed into a corner, with about twelve men surrounding him.

Arthur's blue eyes began to swirl with a faint pink, it often happened when he was excited, pissed off, or in a tough situation. Two of the men gurgled suddenly and were pulled back away from Arthur, and a loud thud of the bodies hitting the ground on the opposite side of the warehouse. There was no more noise as none of the men surrounding Arthur dared to move.

Stumbling along the wall for a good meter, Arthur pushed himself away and took a couple of (stumbling) steps back, standing in the shadows slightly. Fixing his blood soaked vest and still bright blue bow-tie, Arthur put his hands behind him, back straight as he put on his brightest grin. Blue and pink eyes swirling faster than before.

"Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my boys."

Two figures, silent as could be, appeared behind Arthur. Both had their sunglasses pulled down over their eyes, frowns on their faces as they looked at the men in front of them.

The group didn't know how to take this, so they just laughed. What were they going to do? There was just two of them, one with a old jacket and a baseball bat, and the boy in the slightly undone RCMP uniform and a hockey stick. Such sad weapons, they had guns, what could those two do to them?

The group of men were startled when the three started to join in on the laughter. Sunglasses came off, and blood red and shining purple eyes met their gaze. The two boys stopped laughing, smiling.

So much blood. It did Arthur proud.

* * *

Arthur payed a lot for this knife, and he liked the look and feel of it in his hands. Of course, the sales clerk who was ringing the knife through didn't know that it would be the murder weapon in a bunch of back alley killings that would happen in the next couple of days.

As Arthur left the store he held up the new pocket knife. The wood shining under the sunlight, and the blade was just glimmering from the many layers of polish that must have been put on. Running the blade along the palm of his hand, Arthur smiled as the knife easily cut his skin, blood leaking out of the wound and down his arm, soaking into the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. It was beautiful. Not as nice as his trusty knife back at home, (he would never use her on a bunch of worthless humans) but wonderful in its own way.

Using his hanky to clean up the blood on his arm, he started to hum as he walked down the street, and made his way to his favourite cafe which always served him the best cuppa, waiting for the sun to start setting.

As the orange rays started to hit the street, Arthur began to scan the road, looking for someone. It didn't matter who, although, if it was a burly male with tattoos... It always made Arthur feel superior when he took down someone twice his size, and to watch the look of terror in their eyes as he cut into their still beating chest... ah, yes...

Oh! And there he was, about 6 foot 5, shaved head, and tattoos running up the neck and onto his scalp. Black trench coat and... were those gold teeth? Oh he was taking those, could fetch a pretty penny in the black market.

Walking out of the store, Arthur made sure to station himself just in front of the man, and then stopped walking, causing the guy to run into him.

"Hey you dick! Watch what you're doing! Maybe I have to beat a lesson into you, huhuhu"

Arthur just looked up at the man and smiled, ignoring the stupid laugh and the nearly poisonous bad breath that was being blown into his face. His eyes started to twirl with a bright pink, but he didn't stop smiling even when he was dragged by the shoulder of his shirt into a dark back alley.

The man didn't even know what hit him. As not five minutes later, Arthur had pocketed his newly bought blade (now covered in blood, he hoped the wood would absorb some of it) and was whistling as he tossed the gold teeth up in the air only to catch them as they came back down.

Yes, this knife would do just nicely for the next couple of days. And these stupid teeth would bring in enough money to buy a new one in a week or so. He would retire this knife and store it in his weaponry, set it in a black velvet sleeve (with the date of purchase and amount of people killed attached), and proudly display it for all to see. Just like he did with every other pocket knife he bought.


	2. Chapter 2

"Matthew, this is the only one you are receiving, you break it, you don't get a new one. Got that?"

Matthew only nodded, too tired to actually communicate through words as his papa handed him a rapier. Forcing a couple of broken fingers to bend around the handle, Matthew pulled it out of his papa's light grip. Once the hand that was holding the sword up let go, Matthew let it fall next to him on the ground, completely exhausted from the fighting they had been doing previous. Blood stained his jeans from scraped knees, fingers throbbing with the need to be set into place, and his nose once again bloody from a punch to the face that he didn't dodge in time. His long sleeved red shirt was torn in a couple of places from a few close calls from his papa's own rapier.

It had been like this for as long as Matthew could remember. Getting up and out of bed only to start sparring with his papa or whoever his papa bribed (aka blackmailed) from the boxing ring down the street, and then trying to survive the 8 hour fight that would occur only minutes after rolling out of his sheets.

Even when the fighting was over, Matthew couldn't let his guard down. Traps were set everywhere, and he had to watch his every step. The one time he hadn't he ended up with a broken leg and had to set it himself when his papa walked away telling him to 'walk it off'. Thankfully Matthew wasn't 'human', and his wounds healed at an insane rate. Faster than Alfred actually, and it was probably because he had to go through this process every day while his brother got to eat his tofu burgers in relative peace. Relative due to the fact that Arthur would never leave him alone, but at least he didn't have to watch for steak knives coming out of nowhere.

It was the next day that Matthew started to practice with his rapier. He didn't really like it, but it was better than trying to fight off a sword with his bare hands, now he could parry with a weapon of his own.

Of course, when he was just starting to get the hang of the weapon two months later later (you had to be a quick learner in this house), the rapier broke. After the powerful swing, Matthew dropped the now blade-less weapon, jumping back from the oncoming swing, continuing to fight off his papa with his hands, just like old times it seemed.

Completely tired and finally done for the day, Matthew picked up the two pieces of the broken sword and looked at his papa's back as the man walked away. Right, you break it, too bad, no seconds.

Carrying the pieces upstairs, he dropped them onto his bed as he reached his room. Taking his (finally) long enough hair out of its tie, he stepped into the shower, cleaning his wounds as he washed his hair of any sweat. What was he going to do without a weapon, his papa seemed to have made training even harder since he received the blade, and without it he might end up unable to move for weeks. He would just have to improvise then, he still had the blade to work with, he could make something. Right?

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he quickly dried himself off and pulled on a pair of pajama pants. Making his way over to the bed, Matthew lifted the clean piece of metal. He hadn't been able to hit his papa yet, but possibly one day.

Sitting down, he pulled the blade to himself and fell back on his soft mattress. What could he do with this? He needed something. Rolling his head to the side as he let out a huff, only to spot something in the corner of his room. A hockey stick. Now, Matthew didn't play much, but he did enjoy it and it looked like it would make a decent bat if he wanted to use it as such. No, not a bat...

Getting up and picking up the hockey stick, Matthew made his way back over to the bed which still had the blade resting on it. All he needed was some tape or glue or something. Finding a bunch of medical tape in one of his drawers, Matthew lined up the metal to the blade of the stick, and wrapped the tape around two of the ends. He would figure out a way to hold it all together a little bit better later, but for now, this would work fine. Placing his new weapon against his dresser, Matthew headed off to bed, preparing himself for the next day.

The second he stepped foot into the dark basement, Matthew was met with his papa's rapier swinging for his face, but he was able to bring up his hockey stick in time to stop the swing. The light in the basement turned on, and his papa let go of the string attached to the lightbulb in the ceiling.

"What is that Matthew?"

"My... weapon..." He let the blade run against the concrete floor, which created a horrible ear piercing screech. His papa didn't say anything but, rested his hand on his hip, lazily holding his rapier in his other as he watched Matthew position the hockey stick across his body, holding it in both hands.

"Alright then."

No more was said on the matter as his papa charged at him. This weapon had better hold out if he wanted to survive any more of his papas training. Metal crashed on metal as the broken blade met his papa's rapier.

-oOoOo-

It had been nearly a century since Matthew had used his hockey stick as a weapon, and his additions just made it that much better. Barbed wire, there to grab and rip any skin that got too close to his body. A nice grip close to the top and bottom of the stick so he could shove the blade in deep with little effort on his part. He even re-enforced the core with steel, balancing it out along with preventing it from breaking.

It did it's job.

It was also fun to swing around at his brother. 'Accidentally' breaking Alfred's nose once or twice, only to watch him run off to Arthur who was making strange faces at his papa.

Matthew had learned early on that expressions were dangerous, so had adopted his stony facade from his papa. Emotions showed weakness, and often caused problems when people thought you cared about something.

So as he watched Alfred run off, hand to his bleeding nose, Matthew just stared at his retreating back. What a joke his brother was, he couldn't even take a hit, he hardly even scratched him. What was a broken nose anyway. It was easily fixed, even if he might have a bit of a crook in it from now on, it was still nothing to whine about.

He continued to watch as Alfred launched himself at Arthur, and then turned his gaze on his papa. Only to see his papa looking back at him. Even with no expression on his face, he could see that his papa was 'proud'. Or as proud as an emotionless man could get.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry this one isn't as long you guys. Thought I would make something for Alfred as well, considering I did one for Matthew.

Also, with this whole hunt-ban thing going on, I really hope some of my favorites make it through and survive... really... I think I will have to start haunting LJ, and Tumblr...

* * *

Alfred had enough of Matthew constantly beating him up with that hockey stick of his. It was time to get something to fight back with. Wandering around a nearby town, Alfred started to look into different stores seeing if there was anything that could be used to hurt someone. Clothes stores, bakeries, super markets. Nothing. Ah, well, since he was here he might as well go into that comic store he passed a while back.

The bell above the door rang as he walked into the store, the clerk behind the counter looked up before going back to the comic he was reading before Alfred came in. Walking over to the stand of comics, Alfred picked up the newest edition of his favourite comic. Opening to a random page he started to skim through, flipping the page occasionally till he spotted something. There, in the background, was a boy with a baseball bat. Well... that could work. Matthew had a hockey stick, why couldn't he have a bat?

Rolling the comic book up he placed it inside his jacket and walked out of the store. Alright, time to find that bat.

Making his way down the street once again, he started to look for a sport shop. Seeing one a couple of doors down, Alfred started to jog towards it.

Another chime of a bell as he pushed the door open, no one was there so he just headed towards the back of the store where he saw the wide selection of bats. Lifting a big metal bat off of the rack it was stored on, he lifted it up. Did he want metal or wood... Choices, choices. Tapping the bat against the ground, he heard a muffled 'tink' of the metal hitting the concrete underneath the thin carpet. Shrugging he picked up a decently sized wood bat. It felt lighter than the metal one, and when he tapped it against the floor, it made a nice 'thunk', like a body hitting a table when Arthur decided to cut it up for dinner. Yeah, this would do.

Picking up the bat he headed towards the front of the store, but as he passed the counter, a clerk came out of the back of the store.

"Boy! What are you doing! Put that back and get out!"

The man started to stride towards Alfred's small frame, but Alfred just cocked his head. Did this guy have a death wish?

"Dude, don't come any closer if you know what is good for you." It would have probably been more intimidating if Alfred was taller, and had more muscle, but he didn't and the clerk continued to walk towards him, only to reach out as he neared Alfred.

"C'mon man! I told you!" Raising the bat , squaring his shoulders, and lifting his front foot he swung the bat as hard as he could, body twisting as his front foot hit the ground. A sickening crack as he connected with the mans head, blood pouring out of the wound that he created.

Stepping over the body, Alfred wiped the blood on his undershirt so he wouldn't cause a scene. The last thing he wanted was to be taken in by the police again, last time that had happened (some guy had gotten hit by one of his fire crackers, causing a couple broken fingers and some minor burns), Arthur had not been pleased. An angry Arthur equaled a force-fed-sweet-filled Alfred. Arthur knew how much he hated those cupcakes.

Bat clean, he left the store and went out into the busy streets.

-oOo-

The crack of wood on wood rang through the small garden at the back of Arthur's house. Both Matthew and Alfred were trying to get the upper hand (more often than not, Matthew beat him within minutes, but damn if he didn't try!) His beloved bat had been doing well so far. He'd added black tape to the handle, which had started to fray and wear away, he would have to replace that soon. He also hammered nails into the bat, some were now rusting from the blood that coated them, those would also need to come out at some point and replaced, but most of them were just bent at odd angles from hits against concrete and bones, those could stay.

There was also the faint markings of 'HERO' that he scribbled on the side of it years ago, but with the amount of cleaning that it had went through it was starting to fade.

Matthew was once again charging at him. He got into position.

"Batta' up!"

He swung.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Thanks for all of the reviews and such. One thing though. If any of you have _any_ ideas for 2p drabbles, but can't find time to write them yourself (don't want to write them), and if you don't mind me trying out your idea, send them my way. Normally I go off of objects, one liners, even little outlines, and go from there.

So really, if anyone wants to write down an idea (object, a little phrase, anything) and I think I can do something with it in the 2p universe my mind has created, I will write it and put it up. I also apologize ahead of time if I don't write it. But, yeah! Here is the next part, sorry they are all so short.

* * *

"Hey Arthur," Alfred was sitting at the dinner table, eating his tofu burger as Arthur wandered around baking cupcakes.

"Did you know your brain can send messages to your heart?"

Arthur was impressed. "That's right, Alfred! Good job!"

"So then if you cut off someone's head, the message couldn't get there anymore."

"No, it definitely could not."

"And then after you cut off their head, you can take out the message and see what it was going to say!"

"Oh?" Arthur turned around, knife in hand as he started to walk towards Alfred.

"Yeah!" Alfred grabbed the knife "I think I am going to visit Mattie and test this out!" With that, he ran out the door and down the street.

-oOo-

Alfred had once thought he would be a pilot. The open sky, watching the bloodshed below as he soared above them. Dropping bombs on un-suspecting villages and towns. Shooting down other planes that get in his way, fire burning in the enemy cockpit as the plane falls from the sky. Everyone would know him, know the stenciled burning 'A' on the side of his plane and know that they were going to die. He never had the chance to fly in the first world war, nor the years after, but he wanted to one day.

All of these dreams came to a halt when he went out with Arthur to the almost completed Empire State Building. It was 1930, and Alfred had thought that Arthur would like to climb to the very top of the tallest skyscraper ever built (of course it would be beaten in 1972) and Alfred felt like he deserved to brag. Arthur had agreed, that creepy smile still on his face, and off they went.

Entering the building they took the lift to the upper most floor, and used the stairs the rest of the way. As they reached the final landing, the two looked around. A breeze was entering through the windowless, wall-less floor, and they made their way over to the windows to get a better look at the developing city.

"Isn't it awesome Arthur? You can see forever from up here!" Alfred leant out the window, taking in a deep breath. "Did you know, that if you were to jump off the very top of this building, you would reach terminal velocity?"

"Terminal Velocity..." There was the sound of footsteps behind Alfred and a small hum.

"Yeah, if you were to jump off, you would reach the fastest speed your body could fall at. I did the math."

Hands hit the back of Alfred's legs, causing his already half-out-of-the-window body to jolt forward. Not seconds later Alfred had caught the ledge of the window, his arms protesting as his body hung outside of the building.

"Want to test that?" Hands were at his wrists, that could either help him, or kill him. Alfred looked down.

Not smart. It was fucking far.

"No... No Arthur, help me up. Help me in."

"Mmm... I don't see why I should."

"I will eat your cupcakes! I promise! Even your all beef burgers! C'mon! Let me in..."

Arthur just smiled at him, and pushed one hand away from the window ledge, one hand still hanging on. The next hand followed soon after, but Arthur still held on, he was the only thing keeping Alfred from falling to the ground.

"Will you really, love?"

"YES! YES!" Alfred tried not to wiggle, tried not to freak out any more than he already was.

He was being pulled up, and soon met with the floor of the building. Oh man, he was back inside, he nearly kissed the ground.

Arthur was gone when he looked back up, but he could see the sky clearly. Shuddering, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his body shaking.

Screw Arthur. He should have known better than to invite him out. Really, that man lived on the fear of others, and Alfred seemed to be a well of it.

-oOo-

The bars creaked as the door swung open, Alfred and Matthew who were sitting on the only bed in the cell perked up, swinging their heads towards the brightly lit opening.

"What did you boys do this time?"

Arthur and Francis stood just inside the cell, massive eyebrows making Arthur's smile that much more menacing over those already creepy blue-pink eyes. Francis' blank face didn't offer any support what-so-ever.

"Well you see, Alfred and I were having dinner-"

"You know, at the place you like Arthur, the one that sells those really large chocolate cake slices-"

"And these guys showed up and noticed us-"

"Turns out they were there at that... 'carnival' we went to last week-"

"Yeah! Remember? Those guys were tied down to those metal poles-

"Gagged and pleading for help"

"Blood covering the... tent..."

"Anyway, they decided to start some shit and one guy slammed his hands down on the table."

"And Arthur, you always told us never to leave the house without our switch blades."

"And we didn't! Just so you know!"

"Well, the hand hit the edge of my plate and sent all of my spaghetti spilling onto the floor!"

"So, with hardly any movement- and this is the good part- Mattie slammed the blade through the guys hand and into the table!"

"The guy starts screaming and thrashing around-"

"He was crying so much!"

"The other guys ran, and for some reason the restaurant manager phoned the cops."

"We said we would pay for the table. I don't see what the problem was."

"It was self defense, I mean, he tipped over my spaghetti! The fucker deserved it."

Arthur just had a wicked smile on his face as Francis nodded, the two men left the room and motioned for the twins to follow.

It was easy enough to leave a small prison when all the people were dead


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! Thanks for the requests, it's probably the only reason that this is out right now. Keep them coming, please! They are awesome! Here are three of them, I hope that they do your great idea's justice, and I am sorry if they weren't what you were expecting.

* * *

"Alouette, gentille Alouette-"

Matthew was ready for the day ahead of him and was about to make his presence known to his papa, his mouth open and nearly in the middle of the doorway to the kitchen. (Why his papa was in there, Matthew didn't know. He was a horrible cook.) Stopping just shy of entering, Matthew quickly backtracked and flattened himself to the outside wall.

"Alouette, je te plumerai-"

Oh. This was bad. Alouette, as Matthew had learned, meant that Francis was in one of his... moods...

"Je te plumerai la tete" There was a small hum from Francis as he did the echo to the line. "Et la tete" another hum "Alouette" one final hum "O-o-o-ohh~"

The 'oh' was not a happy cheerful one, it was deep and dripped with malice. A knife hitting the cutting board sounded, and a shiver ran down Matthew's spine. He wasn't too sure if it was fear from the song, or from the satisfying sound of a breaking bone.

"Alouette, gentille Alouette-"

Matthew risked peeking around the corner, his eyes widening as a bloody leg dropped in front of him. Squeaking and shuffling back Matthew tripped over the corner of the carpet and dropped to the floor. The light from the kitchen was blocked out.

"Alouette, je te plumerai"

Looking up, his papa was standing there, face impassive as he sang.

"Je te plumerai le bec"

Matthew was being stared at as the man became silent, the note still hanging in the air. He knew what his papa wanted.

"J-Je te plumerai le bec" Matthew was to be the unwilling audience participation, just like all of those bodies that were buried over in the forest. Scrambling backwards on the floor, he tried to get as far away from his papa as he possibly could. Every move back, was followed by his papa stepping forward.

"Et le bec"

Matthew continued to echo him. "Et le bec" Knowing if he didn't, his time to escape would be shortened.

"Et la tete"

His back hit the front door. "Et la tete"

Getting up he rotated the handle, the door opening.

"Alouette~"

Turning his back on his papa, he ran, bare feet slapping painfully on the concrete sidewalk. He was not sticking around for the next cumulative rounds of the song. The "O-o-o-oh" was practically yelled out after him, turning into full out laughter as Matthew looked back. Purple eyes caught blue, and Matthew continued to run, hoping that he would be able to stay at Arthur's house for a couple of weeks.

-oOo-

The night that started all the rumors was a nice quiet one. Someone had followed Alfred that night, and saw everything. Alfred had decided that the duke who had made his life a pain in the ass for a week, should be terminated. It wasn't that difficult to do. All he would have to do was scale the wall, kill anyone who got in his way, and gracefully kill the duke.

So that night Alfred went to the castle and started climbing the wall. Stories would say that he did it without any assistance of ladders or ropes, and this was true. Brute strength and all the cracks in the wall made it easy enough to scale. It was also at this point that the villagers would say his skin shone white in the moonlight, his eyes shining red. Once he had made it over the wall, Alfred dispatched the couple of guards, who fell off the edge of the walkway and continued on his way down the hall.

Either the person following him managed to scale the wall, or there was someone hiding in the castle that he didn't notice, because they continued to talk about his little adventure. Alfred made his way down the hall and finally reached the bed chambers of the duke. Lifting his leg Alfred slammed it into the door, sending it off it's hinges. These people said it was his undead strength, and that he felt no pain from it. Which was far from true, his leg was slightly numb from that kick, but he made a fucking awesome entrance that sent the duke shivering in his knickers.

Making his way over to the duke, Alfred quickly grabbed the man by his throat, constricting his airway so he could not breathe. As the man went red in the face Alfred put his forehead on the man's shoulder, his ear listening close as he rattled for breath. To any outsider, Alfred could see that he might have looked like he was biting the mans neck. But he wasn't, honest. That death rattle had always been one of his most favourite sounds, right underneath crushing bones and above slicing skin.

Once the dukes breathing stopped, Alfred set the man down and walked out of the room. His job done and feeling much more satisfied than he had in the last week. But it was because of this, that people started to call him a vampire. A vampire! He could hardly believe it!

So here he was, three months later with an amazing tan and not pasty white 'shining in the moonlight' skin, hoping that a tan would stop the rumors. What kind of vampire had a tan? It hadn't helped though, and Alfred had resorted to just killing the bastards as they told the so called tale.

He didn't want to hear it any more (even though the rest of the story got really elaborate, it made him seem like some kind of god. Which was totally awesome), it was a bother, unable to go anywhere peacefully. So he decided to just kill all of the people who knew it, and it would be gone. Simple really. Now he just had to put it into action... Maybe Mattie would help.

-oOo-

Alfred wasn't exactly sure what day it was, they had melted into each other and he had lost track of time completely. All he was actually sure about was that he was currently in Washington and it was 1814 (Possibly some time in August if he truly thought about it). Matthew and Arthur had been trying to keep him away from Canada by launching attacks against him, and they were succeeding for the most part. That's why he was here, actually, the bastards were attacking his capitol.

He sent his soldiers to block off the British and the Canadians, but he couldn't send any more, he didn't have enough men. Alfred did his best though, shooting at any enemy he saw and clubbing any who came too close, his red eyes showing his excitement as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Just as he had finished shooting a man in the head, the blood splattering over his face, he felt a burn flare in his chest.

Stumbling forward from the pain and narrowly dodging a sword blade, Alfred continued to fight not wanting to give up so easily, but the Canadian soldiers who were just behind the British lines came roaring out like a pack of beasts, Matthew at the front. It was at this moment that Alfred remembered why he (occasionally) feared his stony Canadian brother.

Running into a deserted street Alfred rested his back against the wall of a demolished barber shop. His many cuts stung, and the couple of bullets that hit his body Alfred picked out and threw to the ground, gritting his teeth as he did so. As he finished he looked up into the sky, plumes of black smoke filling the previous blue and the pain in his chest intensified, his capitol was on fire and it hurt like a bitch.

It was when the Union Flag was raised over Washington that Alfred fell to his knees, eyes wide as he searched the streets. Matthew was standing at the opposite end of the road, the smoke obstructing Alfred's view.

Glinting purple eyes and bright white teeth still shone in the dark, the laughter spewing from Matthew's mouth made him shiver, and the message was perfectly clear to Alfred. 'This is revenge, brother. Stay the fuck away.'


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Sorry for not putting anything up for what... 3 months. Excuses: Traveling Europe and lazyness. What I wrote I did during my Anthropology courses. Way to not pay attention me! These are on how Alfred and Matthew met Arthur and Francis. Even though I will be going back to writing historical moments, this is set in modern day.

I hope I don't insult anyone with these, especially Alfred's. I don't know what you guys will think, but these are completely fictional and not at all related to real life. I know that most are extremely kind people who care a lot for those they bring in. (Do you guys know how difficult it is to apologize when you don't want to give away the story)

* * *

He had been minding his own business, walking down a back alley, his hands dirty with blood, when he heard it. Above all the sounds of scurrying rats and buzzing flies was a high pitched squeal that seemed out of place.

Looking to his left Francis could only see a large pile of garbage, just sitting there waiting for whatever poor person had to pick it up. There was nothing to his right, so Francis thought he would just continue on and ignore whatever that sound was. Just as he was about to step back onto the main street he heard it again, though the whine was now accompanied by a small sneeze.

It definitely came from that pile of trash.

Walking over, Francis carefully put an arm in front of him, making sure he was ready for any surprise attack that might come his way. Who knows what was making that noise.

The little whine came again and Francis kicked a small tin off of the top of the pile. It amused whatever was in there as a little giggle rose up. Another tin and a piece of paper was next, uncovering the mound little by little till he saw a little fist waving in the air.

There was a child in there.

Grabbing the tiny hand he pulled on it, the body attached slowly coming out till he could see patches of blonde hair. Pushing aside the last few pieces of garbage off the small form, Francis finally got a good look at the kid in front of him. The child was curiously looking up at him, the wide purple eyes trained straight on him and wrapped tightly in a ripped dark blue blanket.

Cautiously pulling the child up, Francis remembered to support its neck before loosening the blanket and looking down. Definitely a boy.

What was he going to do with him?

Francis hated being confused. His best bet would be to just dump the baby back into the pile of garbage and be on his way, but he could see the boy growing up to be ruthless. Perhaps this could be an interesting test. People aren't born with talent after all, it needed to be trained into them.

Hefting the child up into a more comfortable position, for Francis not for the child, he walked out into the street.

Little hands grasped at his fingers and the hem of his shirt, pulling and trying to stick the fabric in his mouth. When he couldn't get the fabric high enough he let go of Francis' fingers and stuck them in his mouth instead, babbling around them and looking up at the man carrying him.

Rolling his eyes, Francis continued on, ignoring the angry looks from women passing by him. Probably because of the improper way he was holding the child, but he could care less at the moment. He was trying to think of a name.

* * *

Alfred was done with all of it. All of the moving from house to house, the new "parents" he was housed with, the fact that these people only let him sleep in their home because of the money he brought them. The money that should go towards supplying him with clothes that would actually fit his growing body, and food. Instead his fosters spent it on luxury goods, new couches he wasn't allowed to sit on, games he wasn't allowed to play. Although he was allowed to watch them play the games.

It wasn't anything that a six year old should be watching, blood splattering on the street, heads rolling around on the ground as bodies dropped. Alfred couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to see more blood, more wounds, hear more screams... and not the fake ones yelling from the television.

Often, his foster parents would get phone calls from his school, telling them that he had pushed a child down the slide, or played too rough during gym. He would get punished then, locked in his room or no food for a couple of days. But it was worth it to hear the yells of the kids as they ran away from him in fear.

Many times he had told his foster parents that he would run away, and every time they would freak out, pampering him with candy, food, and television. The treatment would only last a day or two before going back to their neglectful selves, leaving Alfred to hunt the streets for food as his fosters ate a three course chicken dinner.

It was on his seventh birthday that Alfred had had enough and began telling the two that he was going to run away. After nearly bi-weekly threats of this, they didn't take him seriously. Instead of giving him the usual princely treatment, they shoved him into his room, falling on his side, his face hitting the corner of his desk, as the door was slammed behind him. Cupping his now bleeding nose, Alfred pried open his window and climbed out onto the nearby tree, his small hands tearing as the bark caught and pulled.

Finally hitting the ground, hands and nose bloody and dripping, he ran. Alfred didn't care that his feet were bare, his shoes that were sitting in the house were probably worse to walk in, but it was getting cold as the darkness set in.

Nearly five hours later, Alfred thought he had gained enough distance from that damned house, but just as he was about to stop for a break he heard his name being yelled. Jumping, Alfred turned into the nearest alleyway, hiding behind the large green garbage bin as lights from a passing car hit it. It was from this car that his name was being called, the vehicle slowing down. Alfred was worried that they were going to get out and find him, but just as he was about to run out from behind it and hope for the best, they hit the gas and sped off.

Smiling to himself, Alfred was about to leave the alley and be on his way when a hand grabbed his shoulder and prevented him from moving.

"Those your parents?"

Alfred tried to turn around, unable to do so properly as the hand tightly gripped his shoulder. From what he could see, the man was of average height with large eyebrows and bright blue eyes. Alfred could only shake his head in the negative at the question.

"No, they are just some jerks that I have to live with. They only want me back for the money I bring in." A pout as he crossed his arms and huffed.

The man behind him loosened his grip slightly only to kneel down and turn Alfred around to face him. "Do you like... games, boy?"

Alfred's face lit up, although he hadn't played any, he had watched plenty. "Yeah! I love the real violent ones!"

The man grinned, his teeth seemingly glinting in the darkness, his eyes beginning to tint with a shade of pink. "Well then lad, my name is Arthur. Want to mess around with those two?"

Alfred nodded excitedly and a knife was dropped into his hand.


End file.
